Nine Lives
by CottageGhost
Summary: The Captain, the ship's cat and seven kittens, in the middle of a storm off the coast of Madagascar a bad day at the office for the Captain? Oh yeah...


**_Nine Lives_**

            Carolyn jumped as the thunderbolt crashed, rattling the windows. She stopped, putting one hand out against the wall, the other one over her thudding heart, taking deep, slow breaths to try and slow it down. That last explosion of sound had caught her completely off guard.

            And from the sound of things, she wasn't the only one. As she moved quietly past the children's room, she heard two tiny, somewhat quivering voices, talking in a hushed tone so as not to arouse the grownups' suspicion. Carolyn shook her head with a smile, debating whether or not she should go in to make sure everything was under control. Another clap of thunder, sounding both louder and closer than the last, decided it for her. She pushed the door open, to see Jonathan sitting bolt upright in bed, staring at the window, and Candy, her back pressed up against the headboard, her pillow clutched tightly to herself, doing the same. They were so distraught by the fireworks outside that they both let out a yelp of surprise when they heard their mother calling softly to them. "I'm sorry I startled you, kids," she said gently with a reassuring smile, sitting on the edge of Candy's bed.

            "It's okay, Mom, we were just surprised, that's all," Jonathan rushed in, trying to explain why Carolyn had found them as she had. Adopting a more serious air, he added, "we weren't scared at all. It's just a little thunder, right, Candy?"

            The girl put on a brave smile for her mother's benefit, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. "Right," she assented, clutching the pillow a little tighter still.

            Carolyn looked down, fighting down the smile that kept trying to creep onto her lips. It really was cute of them to try to show how brave they were, she thought. Of course, she couldn't let them see that, especially if she hoped to get on their good side and convince them to go back to sleep. As she looked back up, she schooled her features into an uncertain smile of her own, looking toward the half-open door a little guiltily, as if expecting someone to be listening in on them. When she turned back to them, it was with a conspiratorial look. "Can you kids keep a secret?" she asked in a low voice, looking a little embarrassed.

            That drew them right in. "Sure, Mom," Candy assured her speedily, eager to finally be let in on a secret in this house. Carolyn turned toward Jonathan, to see him nodding vigorously. Seeing this, she let out a long sigh. "Okay. Well, I'm embarrassed to admit it, but – I'm afraid of storms," she finished in a quiet voice. She fought for a straight face as she saw the wide-eyed look the children favoured her with, then the silent one they exchanged briefly before turning to her again. "You don't have to be embarrassed about it, Mom," Candy answered, apparently having been chosen as spokesperson during the previous silent exchange. "Actually," she continued a little shyly, "Jonathan and I aren't too crazy about storms, either."

            It was Carolyn's turn to look at them with wide eyes. "Really?" She heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Oh, you don't know how much better that makes me feel!" she said enthusiastically, gratified to see the look of pride her admission put on her children's faces. She leaned toward them eagerly. "Tell you what: I'll go down to the kitchen to fix us all a nice cup of warm milk, then we can wait the rest of the storm out together here. What do you say?" Their cheer was answer enough. Laughing, Carolyn got up and made her way to the kitchen.

            Once there, she got the stove going, then fetched the milk and poured it into a pot, adding a pinch of nutmeg to the mix. As she stirred the concoction, she began whistling absentmindedly, watching the little eddies left in the wake of the spoon.

            "You're not planning a mutiny, I hope, Madam? I would be so very disappointed if you were."

            Carolyn jumped slightly. She cast an annoyed glance at the spirit who had appeared just behind her left shoulder, then shook her head with a smile, too happy to see him to stay mad at him. "And just how does preparing warm milk constitute mutiny, pray tell, my dear sir?" she returned inquiringly, adding another dash of nutmeg for good measure.

            He chuckled. "Stirring milk doesn't; but whistling does." At her curious look, he elaborated. "On Navy ships, whistling or rolling cannonballs along the deck meant a mutiny was in the offing."

            "Thank God I'm fresh out of cannonballs, then, or you'd REALLY have something to be suspicious about," Carolyn said, her eyes mischievous. She shook her head again as she took the milk off the stove. "It seems like a shame, though, not being able to whistle, even to yourself, to wile the long hours away."

            The Captain shrugged. "There were other ways to fill one's time. But, I'll admit, it was galling at times to walk by the galley and to hear the cook whistling, without being able to do the same."

            She paused in her pouring. "How come he could whistle and no one else could?" Carolyn asked quizzically.

            "To make sure he didn't spit in the food he was preparing."

            Carolyn made a disgusted noise. "Gross!" Then she smiled. "Well, I guess that means my warm milk is safe for consumption, then."

            He threw his head back and laughed heartily at that. Still smiling, he nodded toward the three cups. "Trouble in the berth?"

            "Nothing serious. The kids can't sleep because of the storm."

            He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Would a bedtime story help?"

            She smiled brilliantly at him as she picked up the tray. "Oh, would you? They'd be so thrilled." _And so would I_, she added silently to herself. She so enjoyed listening to the sound of his voice, whether he was telling one of his innumerable tales or discoursing about the weather.

            He bowed slightly. "It would be my pleasure, Madam. I'll meet you upstairs." On that, he vanished.

            Following with her laden tray, Carolyn was soon treated to the sight of her two children, staring raptly at the Captain, both unconsciously leaning slightly forward as if they were getting ready to catch every word that fell from his lips. She smiled. "You haven't started without me, I hope?"

            The Captain smiled back. "Just warming up," he said, his eyes twinkling merrily as he watched the children eagerly latching onto the hot mugs and settling themselves comfortably. He waited until Carolyn took off her shoes to sit cross-legged on Candy's bed, then began his tale. "Let me tell you a story about a storm I encountered long ago – a storm so fierce it makes this one look like a mild summer rain. It began on our way back from India…"

********************

            "Sail ho, off the starboard bow!"

            The cry of the lookout was almost whipped away by the rapidly stiffening wind. Captain Daniel Gregg and his first mate, Nathan Roberts, moved to the starboard rail and pulled out their eyeglass, trying to see if they could glean anything of import about their fellow traveler. A number of pirate sightings had been reported in the region over the recent months. Laden as they currently were, they would be an ideal target. Thus, the two men studied the other ship silently for a few tense moments, until they were able to make out her colours. They both breathed a sigh of relief when they made out the Italian flag, flapping in the wind at the ship's stern. Their relief was short-lived, however, when they noticed something was clearly wrong with the other vessel. "She's foundering," the Captain said softly, lowering his glass with a sigh.

            The first mate nodded. "Aye." Looking up at the darkening sky, he shook his head. "Not a good time at all for that to happen. Poor devils."

            "Hmmm," was all Captain Gregg grumbled, his piercing blue eyes, narrowed in thought, never leaving the other ship.

            Nathan turned sharply at the sound, looking disbelievingly at his superior. He knew that sound; he was even better acquainted with that look. Looking up at the heavens, shaking his head, he turned toward the waist, then, cupping his hands around his mouth, shouted, "Helm! Starboard two points! Boat crews, prepare to man the boats!" He turned back to his captain, to find him looking at him, half-annoyed, half-amused. Nathan merely shrugged. "How many men will you be wanting, sir?" the first mate asked, all seriousness again.

            Taking in the gathering darkness above, the Captain considered. Before long, the sea would be too dangerous to tackle in a row boat, especially one filled to overflowing with passengers. His goal was to save them, not drown them in the attempt. "Six will have to do," he finally decided. "It's going to be hard pulling all the way there and back – especially on the way back," he added with a faint scowl, which he shook off right away. No use wasting time and energy thinking about what couldn't be helped. "Well, there's nothing for that. Besides, the boat crew will only have to make the round trip once."

            Nathan felt his jaw drop. "You're not really thinking what I'm thinking you are – are you? Sir," he added belatedly, knowing with utter certainty that the thought that had just sprung up in his mind, fully formed, had already occurred to his captain a full five minutes earlier.

            Captain Gregg gave him a devilish smile. "Seems like a waste to ask a question you already know the answer to, don't you think?" Sobering, he mentally went through the inventory of all he would need to effect the rescue: three stout lines; smaller ropes to make slings; extra oars, so some of the men from the other ship could help speed up the return trip. Giving the list to the mate, he cast a weather eye on the clouds overhead, which were darkening by the minute. They would be cutting it very close, so close, in fact, that he felt fairly sure they would find themselves in the thick of it before they were done transferring every one from the other ship. As they closed in on the hailing vessel, the Captain busied himself making doubly sure everything was ready to go. They would have to move fast if this was to succeed; they could leave nothing to chance.

            They finally made it to within thirty yards of the other ship, at which point the Captain ordered the helm to hold position as best as possible in the choppy sea. He climbed down to the waist and casting one last look around the ship to make sure everything was in place, gave the order to call away the boat. He then proceeded to take off his overcoat and his hat, putting them in the hands of the flabbergasted mate. "Keep a sharp eye on this weather," he instructed his first as he got ready to climb over the side to join the rest of the boat crew. "If you feel, at any time, that it's too dangerous to remain moored to her, cut the lines and let her go, whether there's people left onboard or not," he finished, not having to make his meaning any clearer to the other man. He could see the protest in Nathan's eyes, but he knew he wouldn't put it into words. He was too much of an old salt not to know that trying to change Daniel Gregg's mind was about as easy – or futile – as trying to stop the course of the sun. So he kept his reservations to himself, merely nodding his acknowledgement. He held out his hand to his commander. "Good luck, sir." Returning both the handshake and the nod, the Captain went over the side.

             He quickly found that he hadn't suspected the half of it when he had said it would be a hard pull: he was nearly thrown overboard twice when he all but lost his grip on the tiller, and the more they pulled, the higher the waves seemed to get. It got to the point where every time they hit a trough, they lost complete sight of both ships. It was a rough passage, to say the least, but they finally made it to the other ship. By then, rain had already started falling and, from the look of things, it was going to get a lot worse before it got better. After securing the boat to the ship's rail, Captain Gregg climbed nimbly up the side ladder, followed by two of his men, carrying the lines they had trailed behind them. Without a word, the two crewmen got to work tying those to the railing, while the Captain went to greet his counterpart, intent on getting the transfer of passengers started as quickly as possible. He was in for a surprise, however.

            "Non parlo l'inglese," the other captain said regretfully, shrugging. "Ah, lo parlo solo un poco… a little," he amended in heavily accented English when he saw the dismayed look on the other man's face.

            Captain Gregg turned toward his two crewmen, who had paused in their work when they had heard the exchange. As he expected, they looked every bit as bewildered as he felt. Groaning, he looked down, considering his options. His Spanish, which he considered rudimentary at best, was a hundred times better than the smattering of Italian he had picked up in his travels. It certainly wasn't enough to carry on a conversation, much less explain a plan of action. _Well, this is certainly off to a good start_, he thought, grimacing. Signalling to his men that they should resume their task, he looked back up, first at the ship's master, then at the rest of the crew and passengers, who were gathered on the main deck of the small vessel, waiting expectantly for him to take charge of the operation. Clearing his throat, he began to explain as best he could. "Ah, Yo tengo – no, no, no, I mean Io – need – umm, tres hombres – no, Italian, blast it – tre, tre, Signori per – " There he imitated the motion of a man pulling on his oar. "Capisci?" he finally asked in desperation. He was greatly relieved to see the other man nod vigorously, then turn to pick three men from his own crew to help on the row back. That settled, he moved to his two crewmen to check on their progress. "How are we doing, gentlemen?"

            The senior of the two nodded at him. "Ready whenever you are, sir," he answered confidently.

            "Excellent. At least something's going right," Captain Gregg retorted, the twinkle back in his eyes. "Oliver, you'll be in charge of the boat crew on the way back. I'll stay here to coordinate. Tell Mr. Roberts that when most of the passengers and crew have been transferred, he is to cut one of the lines. I'll cut the second one off before I start making my way back using the third. Is that clear?" Both men nodded. "Good. Then let's get started. The women and children go in the boat. I think we'll be able to fit them all in. If not, the older boys can be the first to go back by way of the lines. Carry on, gentlemen."

            Having explained the plan of action to the other captain using the previous mixture of English, Spanish and Italian, and adding to it a great many hand gestures, the transfer finally began, the boat going first. It was even slower going than the first trip, the sea tossing the more heavily-laden boat like a cap. No one dared breathe until the boat was three-quarters of the way to its destination. Once there, the rest of the passengers and crew started crossing to the other ship by hanging off hoops of rope attached to the three stout lines linking the two ships together. By then, the wind had kicked up considerably and the rain was coming down in sheets. It was a solid two hours work before they saw one of the lines go limp. With only ten people left on board, Roberts had followed his orders, making the going a little easier for the rescuing ship.

            Forty-five minutes later, Captain Gregg was the only one left on board. He brushed his now waterlogged curls out of his eyes while surveying the length and breadth of the deck one last time, making sure no one had been left behind. That's when he spotted the ship's cat, its fur looking every bit as soaked as his own hair felt, carrying a wet-through kitten in its mouth and giving him a disdainful look in passing, which he returned in full. That look quickly turned into one of incredulity, then of exasperation as he watched the animal deposit the kitten next to five of its siblings, which had been hiding under a corner of tarpaulin covering one of the ship's boats.

            Shaking his head, he bent forward, resting his hands on his knees, thinking. For all of two seconds, he actually considered leaving them behind. The ship was already listing dangerously and he was beginning to worry about his own ship, tied as the two were to each other. But, in the end, he couldn't find it in himself to do that. The creature did, after all, play an important role on board; leaving her would be like leaving a crewmember behind. Looking up again, he saw the cat watching him intently, as if it knew exactly what was going through his head. Letting out an explosive sigh, he straightened up. "Oh, very well. I'll take you and your brood back with me. Though I'll be damned how I'm going to do that," he muttered, eyeing his surroundings critically as he searched for something to convey the animals in. As he continued with his examination, he saw the cat out of the corner of his eye, making its way to the gangway leading below decks. There it stopped and looked straight up at him, letting out a loud, demanding meow as it did so. "What now?" he demanded, annoyed at having his train of thought so rudely interrupted. This was answered by another, louder, more drawn out meow.

            Growling low in his throat, the Captain made his way to the gangway, getting increasingly frustrated as he saw the cat start down the gangway as he approached. He had no time to play hide-and-seek with a bloody cat! He didn't have to go far to find it, however. It sat on one of the last steps that still weren't submerged by the water rising steadily in the hold. When it saw him standing next to it, it got up and meowed piteously at him, alternately looking up at him and looking toward the hold. Suddenly understanding, the Captain straightened up and shook his head. "Oh no! Oh no, you don't! I am NOT going down into a pitch black, flooded hold to go look for another of your brats!" Another piteous meow, accompanied by the feathery touch of a paw on his pant leg, undid him. "Bloody hell," he muttered, shaking his head at his own soft-heartedness. His reputation as a hardened seadog would never survive this! Looking back at the cat as he started down the flooded stairs, he admonished, "Now, don't you lose track of the other ones! This is the last one I'll go look for – you lose another one, he stays lost. Do I make myself clear?" The cat listened patiently to his tirade, then turned around to go up the gangway, purposely rubbing its ringed tail against the leg closest to it before going back up to the deck, presumably to go keep an eye on the rest of the kittens. 

            Shaking his head again, he got down the last of the steps, to find himself standing knee deep in water. "How do I keep getting myself into these situations?" he mused at large while giving his eyes time to acclimate to the darkness of the hold. The howl of the wind was somewhat muted in the enclosed space; hopefully, he could locate the missing animal by ear. He listened intently as he waded in the sloshing water, trying to tune out its sound, focussing instead on sounds that would be out of the ordinary in this particular environment. After a few minutes, he stopped moving. Much as he hated admitting it, there was no way he was going to find that kitten under these circumstances. His eyesight was useless in this darkness; even if he could see, he might still be unable to find the thing, unfamiliar as he was with the nooks and crannies of this particular ship. No; he would have to go back and bring those he could easily secure. He started retracing his steps, then stopped again. It always galled him when he had the feeling he hadn't done absolutely everything he could to find the solution to a problem. Letting out a long breath, he put his hand out against a beam to hold himself steady, then closed his eyes, concentrating instead on the ambient sounds: his breathing, bouncing off the bulkheads; the water, sloshing with every movement the ship made; the beams, creaking under the strain; a hinge, in bad need of greasing, squealing with annoying regularity…

            Squealing –

            Opening his eyes, he straightened up as he turned, promptly running head first into a low-hanging crossbeam. He let out a yelp of pain, on the heels of which came a long string of oaths as the Captain pressed a palm into the offended area. Sometimes, he forgot how tall he actually was. 

            Taking a couple of calming breaths, he closed his eyes again, listening more closely for that squealing sound that had caught his ear. There – port side, about ten paces away. He waded in the rising water, occasionally bumping his knees and his shins in floating barrels and other goods as he went. After ten paces, he stopped, taking his bearings again. Yes, it definitely sounded closer. He moved forward a few more steps, stopped again. The squeal actually sounded more muted – which meant he was moving away from it. He backtracked, listening intently – he was very close to it, no question about it. But where could the darn thing be!?!? There was nothing around but water and floating debris. He came to a complete standstill as a thought occurred to him. Putting his hands out in front of him, moving like a blind man, he started looking for the floating barrels and crates that had earlier so hindered his progress, all the while straining to hear the high-pitched sound.

            There it was again. He moved carefully in the direction of the sound, allowing his hands to probe any object they came in contact with as he pursued his advance. Rough, wooden grating; a curved shape, small nail heads protruding at regular intervals; more wooden grating, a layer of fur covering it –

            Fur!

            His hand closed of its own volition around the patch of fur it had felt; he was rewarded by the high-pitched squeal he had used as a beacon. Wasting no more time, he crossed the hold with long strides, keeping his head low. Once on deck, he was treated to the sight of a tiny, shivering feline, its hair made spiky by the water. He almost laughed at its appearance, but an ominous sounding groan stopped him in his tracks. He didn't have to look to know that was the mainmast. And from the sound of things, it wasn't going to remain standing for very long. The small animal squirmed in his hand, letting out another squeal. "You're right, mate; that didn't sound good at all," Captain Gregg told his charge as he looked around him frantically. Spotting something that looked promising, he moved toward the forecastle, where he picked up an oilskin long coat. It had seen better days, but it would serve his purpose. Draping it over his arm, he moved toward the area where he had first spotted the ship's cat, holding the kitten in one hand while untying his neckerchief with the other. Reaching the animals, he quickly rolled the coat lengthwise, then tied it across his chest. That done, he undid the buttons of his shirt down to the middle of his chest, then carefully stashed each of the kittens inside, buttoning it up again once he was done. Finally, he picked up the adult cat and lowered it inside his makeshift satchel, making sure only its head could poke out of it. Moving to pick up an axe, he saw that he wouldn't have to worry about cutting the second line off: it had come loose on its own. Checking the third one to make sure it would hold, he slipped the noose around himself so the rope would rest under his arms and threw his legs over the railing, letting the rope take his weight.

            It was quite possibly the longest thirty yards he had ever crossed, whether on water or on land. The feeling of time slowing down to a crawl was made even more potent by the groaning of the mainmast, growing louder and more frequent by the second, as well as by the constant burning sensation caused by tiny claws puncturing the flesh of his abdomen, sides and back as the kittens tried to scramble away from the water they were doused in every time the line went slack and all nine of them were buried momentarily in the furious sea. Twisting around as best he could in the noose to look behind him, Captain Gregg felt the colour drain from his face as his eyes confirmed what his ears had just heard: the mast, no longer able to suffer the abuse of the wind, cracked straight through and prepared to fall. _Please, please, please, let it fall to starboard_, he prayed silently but fervently, yet knowing with uncanny certainty that it would do no such thing. He watched with a strange detachment as the head of the large trunk of solid oak began to topple, almost in slow motion, straight toward his position. He was dimly aware of the people on the deck of his own ship, every bit as powerless as he was, of the kittens' squeals and the mother cat's angry growls, of his own calm acceptance of the fact that this was the end of the journey for him. _What a ridiculous way to go_, he thought to himself, closing his eyes as he prepared for the blow that would snuff his life out.

            Instead of the crushing sensation he expected, he felt first a sudden explosion of air at his back, then the now familiar feeling of water engulfing him, and finally the burning sensation of sharp teeth angrily puncturing the skin of his hand. He hissed at the sudden flare of pain, then looked down into the face of a very wet, very angry cat, its ears flat against its head, growling and spitting at him for all it was worth. Ignoring the animal, he twisted around again in his harness, to see that the mast had crashed no more than six feet away from him, mercifully missing the line he was hanging off of by a mere two.

            He turned back just in time to stretch his legs in front of him so he could stop his forward motion with his feet against his ship's hull. He was pulled up carefully over the side, to the sound of cheers from both his crew and a large number of the passengers, all of whom signed themselves when he finally set foot on deck, many reaching out to touch him reverently. A loud growl and a low hiss from the cat quickly discouraged others from doing the same.

            Escorted to the sick berth by his first, he gratefully untied the oilskin coat to let the cat go, then, under the incredulous gaze of both the ship's doctor and the first mate, fished the seven kittens, one by one, out of his shirt, which was now scratched through and bloody in places. Breathing a sigh of relief at finally being the sole wearer of the shirt, the Captain soon felt a scowl form on his face at the look the surgeon was giving him. "What?" he demanded, his nerves already stretched to the limit.

            The surgeon merely shook his head and smirked. "Well, you certainly look like something the cat dragged in," he drawled.

            Narrowing his eyes at the man, his attention was drawn to the door, where he caught sight of a ringed tail, calmly walking away to the sound of the first mate's braying laughter.

********************

            The spirit tried to look annoyed at the sight before him, but soon found himself caught up in the general hilarity: Candy and Jonathan were literally out of breath from laughing, wiping tears from their eyes, and Carolyn was holding on to one of the bed posts, laughing so hard that no sound came out. What little embarrassment he might feel was entirely worth a sight like this.

            Spying a yawn on Jonathan's face, the Captain decided this would be an ideal time to make his escape. "Well, mates, it looks like we talked the worst right out of that storm. It's pretty much blown itself over – which means, it's high time you two went back to bed."

            "Aww, Captain! Couldn't you tell us another one – just a little short one? Please?" Candy begged, even though she was beginning to have trouble keeping her eyes open.

            "Come now, you don't really want me to tell you all my stories in one sitting, do you? What would we do the rest of the year?" The children both nodded at the Captain's common sense in the matter. Picking up the tray with the empty cups, he wished the children goodnight and made his way to the kitchen while Carolyn tucked them in for the night.

            A few minutes later, she joined him, and found herself greeted by a steaming cup of coffee. She took the cup from him, her eyes never leaving his. "I know you hate hearing it, but it really was very sweet of you to take the time to comfort them as you did. Thank you," she said, her tone heartfelt. "I really appreciate it."

            Embarrassed by her praise, he shrugged, tugging on his ear as he did so.  "It was nothing, really. There is so very little I can give them –" He stopped as he saw Carolyn step closer to him, her face earnest.

            She shook her head at him. "Never – ever – believe that, Daniel. What you do give them – us – is invaluable. Never doubt that." She rarely came straight out with things like that, but the definite sadness that had tinged his words had compelled her to speak. Having managed to render him speechless, and seeing the obvious pleasure her words had given him etched on his handsome features, she strove to lighten the mood. Smiling wickedly, she said, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

            Gull Cottage glowed with the laughter that suddenly rang out within its walls.


End file.
